“The rooms are nice,” she said eventually. “In fact…” She looked in her bag. “There was something I wanted to give you, but it’s upstairs.” She looked up at him. “Do you want to…?” But he was already shaking his head.

“Then will you wait here while I fetch it?”

“Sure.”

So she stubbed out her cigarette and headed indoors. Three minutes later she was back, holding a book.

“Here,” she said, handing it over.

Rebus read the title aloud: “The British Isles: Myth and Magic. Is this the one you did research for?”

She nodded, watching as he flicked through a few pages.

“Thanks,” he said. “I mean it. I’ll start it tonight.”

“Look, about earlier…I hope you don’t think I was trying to proposition you?”

He shook his head again. “Not a problem, Nina. It would have been flattering if you had. Are you heading back in the morning?”

She gestured towards the building across the street. “Bit of research I need to do.”

“The National Library?”

“Yes.”

“Is this for work?”

She nodded. “I was thinking of staying another night…”

There was an invitation there—or at least an opening—but Rebus ignored it.

“You know you’ll be the first person I call—supposing I make any progress,” he said instead.

“You seem to be my best hope, John. I can’t thank you enough.” She moved forward to kiss him, but he leaned back a little at the waist, and instead took her hand in his, shaking it. Her grip was almost fierce. Her whole body seemed to be vibrating.

“Maybe next time we can compare myths and legends,” he said.

She nodded, averting her eyes, then turned and hurried back into the hotel. Rebus got into his car, turned the key in the ignition and signaled to make a U-turn.

All the way home he was anticipating her call, but it never came.

18

Lochend at midnight.

Darryl Christie slipped out of the house. He’d been home less than an hour. His mum was dead to the world, having been prescribed sleeping pills. Darryl’s two younger brothers, Joseph and Cal, shared the bedroom next to Annette’s. Darryl’s own room was downstairs, in what had been built as a conservatory. He’d added blackout blinds when he’d taken it over. Several times Frank Hammell had offered to find them a bigger and nicer place, but Darryl’s mum had grown up in Lochend, as had her parents before her. All her friends lived within walking distance of the house—and besides, Darryl and Annette would be moving out before long. Growing up, with their own lives to live.

Darryl had examined every inch of his sister’s bedroom, finding nothing to help explain her disappearance. He’d even contacted a few of her very closest pals, but nobody seemed to have any ideas. It had been Darryl, too, who had broken the news to his father, having reminded Gail that someone needed to do it.

“You’re the man of the house, Darryl,” she’d said, reaching for the vodka bottle.